


Existing Within the Gray

by friendofafriendofme



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Tower, BAMF May Parker (Spider-Man), Domestic Avengers, Found Family, Growing Up, Hurt Peter Parker, Iron-Dad and Spider-Son, May is sick, Multi, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Protective Avengers, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21841912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendofafriendofme/pseuds/friendofafriendofme
Summary: In which Peter Parker grows up too soon, and finds family within grief.
Relationships: Iron-Dad & Spider-Son - Relationship, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter One

Peter Parker never had particular luck when it came to family, in both a traditional and non-traditional sense. From a set of strangers who were smudges in far-off childhood memory, to a cautious uncle- willing to love but unsure of the cost, to a grieving aunt, who simply deserved better, Peter was never surrounded by loved ones for too long. His parents left and never returned when he was four- a supposed “business trip” turned catastrophe.

He tries to remember them. Every day is a battle with his own mind, a constant war he always seems to be losing. Things slip further into obscurity, things he didn’t even bother to grasp onto anymore- first it was their voices. Some moments he feels as if he can almost hear the warm lilt of a mother’s tone, a distant car horn sometimes evokes some foreign memory of a bark of laughter, followed by strong fingers carding through his curls.

His parents are so far away in his own imagination. Sometimes he dreams he is running towards them, but each step brings him nowhere closer than he was a moment before. He reaches out- desperate fingers searching for the warmth of a mother's embrace, the acceptance of a father’s smile, both of which he can barely remember. Each morning he wakes up, feeling as though he had just run a marathon, with absolutely nothing to show for it.

He tries not to linger on them, on their memory. The therapists that plagued his childhood urged him to live in the present, in the now, in the moment. So, he tries. He plasters on his signature crooked Parker smile and lives in the now. But the now is not all that better.

Peter’s past is chock-full of death, from the sinister murder of his morally ambiguous parents to the untimely end of a life-long best friend, a replacement father.

But Ben’s not his dad, not his dad, not his dad.

He tries not to live in the past; he tries not to remember how his uncle always looked at him with an odd mix of pride and grief. “Sorry buddy, you’ve just got your old man’s eyes.” Because Ben wasn’t his dad- he was his uncle, his friend, his guardian but he could never be his dad- because he refused. In an attempt to not sully the memory and legacy of his late brother, Ben had refused to take the title his older sibling had biologically reserved for himself.

Peter could never understand why- his father was someone who had never been quite there, someone he has absolutely no memory of and frankly, (if somewhat shamefully), no qualms in replacing. The self-conscious part of his brain had assured him that it was because Ben simply couldn’t love him the same way a father did.

More often than not, the child agreed. He remembers how his aunt and uncle had always addressed the question of the possibility of children in their future; a shared laugh and a “Thanks, but no thanks.” Now how was he supposed to unravel that? In what way was he supposed to not feel like a constant burden thrust upon the mourning aunt and uncle he had come to cherish?

There were days when he was a child, like mothers or fathers day in school- where he yearned to be normal, to be like the rest of the students who filled in the other seats in his class. Those days spent comparing parents’ jobs and love- days spent at family barbecues poolside, surrounded by loving parents.

Days that he spent laying flowers at a grave he had memorized the route to- unwittingly as it may be. The rest of the day was spent then in a ridiculously uncomfortable quiet, a blanket that covered the trio and separated them, pitting them 2-to-1, in which Peter was constantly the 1.

Solo, alone. Peter. 

But we can’t live in the past. A mantra he repeats to himself unwillingly now, a phrase that had embedded itself deep in his self-conscious, one that now seems to live there solely sarcastically, mocking him at every turn. The teen can’t live in the past, but the present hurts too badly.

Because Peter is down three parents, with one to go. 

He dwells on these thoughts as he sits in the waiting room of a hospital that he was now all-too-familiar with. One where he had come on a fateful day at the age of four, and then again at the age of eleven and a half, and now again at the age of twelve (almost thirteen!). Everyone always says middle school sucks, but Peter suspects his experience has in quite a different sense.

“Peter!” The warm, breathy tone of a nurse exclaims from somewhere down the hall. His head shoots up and he immediately notices the tight expression his aunt’s closest friend wears. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her smile is half-hearted. She opens her arms and envelops the tween in a thick, warm embrace. Discomfort washes over him and he stays stiff, unable to reciprocate.

Peter always tried his hardest to be warm and fuzzy, especially on the outside. Detached and goofy seemed to work better for him, and he rolled these adjectives all into one and at those crossroads is where the youngling lives.

“Oh honey, it’s good to see you!” She calls into his ear, causing a scene in the half-empty emergency room. Peter smiles wanly and his knee bounces up and down as he looks up at her from his seated position. He crosses his hands over his lap, and then they move to his chest, flutter to his sides, and finally reach his mouth. The woman looks at him with worry in her eyes, with pain in her face- pity, an expression the young boy is all too familiar with.

“My, how you’ve grown.” She comments with a crick in her voice, a tell that she’s stalling, a fact Peter had already gathered. There’s a sharp prick in the back of his mind and he knows bad news is coming before it does- because it inevitably always does when it comes to Peter Parker and the prospect of family.

“It’s good to see you.” He chokes out, his voice cracked to hell. His eyes begin to water before he can stop himself and the woman is wrapping herself around the boy all over again, his weak protests stay neatly packed away in the folder of his mind entitled “manners”. He lets her sob into his shoulder; he lets her grieve for the two of them before he can even imagine what’s happening.

She steps back, remembering her place, returning to her position as a hospital nurse as opposed to a broken friend. She stands straight and wipes away stray tears, and Peter is blasted into the past, the last time this situation had occurred. When a bullet had met his uncle and taken him away.

When a man Peter was slowly beginning to understand, to learn and grow from was ripped away from him. When the Parker boy had decided that family was over-rated, and sometimes we were better off alone.

“How is she?” He squeaks out, his voice betraying him. He tries to remind himself that this is what happens, that this is the effect he evidently has on those he loves, but it doesn’t change a thing. Because May was the warm embrace he always found himself falling into, in wakefulness and sleep. May was the constant in his life, the one who carried all the grief, but attempted to shoulder all their strength. Leaving her young charge woefully numb.

She worked so many jobs Peter could hardly keep count. She pretended not to wake up crying for the sake of the boy, he pretended he couldn’t hear her sobs each night.

But May was his constant, until now.

“She made it out of surgery just fine, sweetheart.” The nurse coos affectionately, reaching for the boy’s hand. He takes it as a courtesy and looks at her with pleading, affectionate eyes. “But the tumors... We can’t remove them.” She bites out and Peter hears static.

Terminal. We are all terminal.

He knows the woman is talking to him, he understands that she’s spewing out false promises that everything will be okay, he knows that. But what Peter doesn’t understand is, how can people look him in the eyes and say that when everything is so far south of okay, it’s not even on the map? How can they lie directly to his face, and pretend it’s for his benefit? How can the world be so, so cruel? It’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair.  
He breathes deeply, he counts to three, and he decides that he has to live in the present.

“I’d like to see her please.”

***

“Go fish, little bug.” May’s eyes are alight as she bites through a cough, propped up in a hospital bed that can never carry half as much comfort as the sunken one in a certain comfortably cluttered Queens apartment. She looks at her nephew with nothing but love, because he is her whole world and that’s all there is to it.

“May you’re cheating! I know you have the last Jack!” Her boy dissolves into chuckles and she lets out a weak laugh in response. The woman wonders how she had ever gotten so lucky- to be able to watch this child grow- to be able to have him in her life. She lets tears find her dry eyes, and slip down to her cracked lips.

“Then you’re cheating!” Her voice can’t rise above a whisper anymore; the cancer had taken that from her, along with her hair, and more likely than not her life. The chemo hadn’t worked and the tumors kept on growing, She couldn’t eat or drink without it coming back up, and each breath was becoming a chore. She couldn’t even recognize her own face anymore, sunken and sallow and yellow and blue. The cancer had taken her own face.

And it was going to take her from her baby, too.

“Am not!” Her boy caws back. They continue to laugh, and she extends her arms, the wiry, weak, cartoon-sticks they now were, and wraps him in them. She holds him close to her, tighter than she should be able to, and plants a million kisses in his curls. For a moment, she flashes back to nine years ago, a moment like this- a chess game went rogue, in which May moved all of Peter’s pieces when he wasn’t paying attention, and in return, he had swiped her king.

She tries to ignore the patch of wetness leaking into her torso, tears that would sink deep into her skin and likely stay with her- stabbing knives of guilt and what if’s- until she was gone. Every moment from here on out will be etched, as a bitter memory of an unrelenting god in the younger’s head. She tries not to think about a future she no longer has.

“How was school?” She coos, her voice calming and sweet even in its raspiness. Her presence is a dampener on Peter’s ever-present anxiety and flightiness, a position no one ever has or will replace- in his entire life he suspects. May brushes a bony hand through his voluminous curls and he closes his eyes.

“It was school, May. How do you think?” He retorts, his voice muffled as he refuses to readjust, attaching to his aunt like an octopus, like a lifeline. She laughs shortly before that turns to rough coughing- because the cancer was fighting for that one as well. Peter stills but doesn’t move, his mind too focused on the weak heart beating beneath his ear. He knows it’s only a matter of time.

They both do.

“Common courtesy, sweetheart. Even if I don’t care I ask. Because I just love you.” She says the last part breathlessly, smiling widely still at the flowering young man before her. Not even yet in high school.

“Ouch.” He bites back halfheartedly. He sits up and turns his gaze towards the large window on the other side of the room, biting his lip and staring intently outside. She can practically see the gears in his brain turning and whirring. As she often does, she ponders just what exactly is going on in that big brain of his.

“Where are you right now, kiddo?” She asks softly, not much behind it. Wonder in her eyes and a smile on her lips as she continues to card through his soft hair in a practiced movement of a life that feels so beyond long ago. 

“Oh. What? Uh. Hey. Um. Sorry-“ He stumbles through every response he can think before his aunt cuts him off with a laugh. His head shoots up and he stares at her for a moment, something she can’t recognize behind his eyes- something she hasn’t seen before. Regret? She doesn’t know. And she worries she never will.

“Breathe, Peter. Come on, what’s up with you? You’ve been acting weird lately- especially since I moved into this swanky new place.” She gestures around the hospital room with the most lightheartedness she can muster, but her boy just frowns back. He wasn’t a huge fan of the dark humor, or so she had gathered these past few months.

“It’s nothing. Really, it’s just-“ He’s interrupted by a frantic beeping. The boy’s heart stops beating as he whips to face his aunt again. She smiles at him sadly as a horde of medical professionals swoop in and escort him out in a mere matter of seconds. Before he can think he’s standing in a bustling lobby, completely alone among a throng of the beleaguered. 

“I’m Spider-Man.” He mutters to no one but himself, before shoving his hands deep into his jean pockets. He stands in the lobby for what seems like decades, his hair must be graying by this point, he can feel the crow's feet making themselves a home around his eyes. He remains standing throughout the endeavor, waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

*** 

“Mr. Parker, were you planning on joining us today?” Peter jolts forward in his desk seat, he can't remember falling asleep anymore. Hell, he can’t even remember what class he’s in at the moment… or what time it is or what day it is or what month- “Mr. Parker, the homework?” His teacher interrupts his mini-existential crisis. 

“Right. Yeah.” He responds sleepily, ripping out what he thinks is his biology homework and handing it to the teacher. She takes it and turns, returning to some boring lecture about god only knows what. He feels himself nodding off again but he just can’t help it. Between school and homework and Spider-Man and visiting May, there’s not much time for sleeping.

Or eating, he figures as his stomach rumbles aggressively. 

His eyes are a battle to keep open right now, but every time they close he enters a new surreal nightmare- whether it be Uncle Ben or Aunt May related seems to be an adventure every evening. He can’t help it when he eventually nods off again, right in the middle of something he figures will be important later on. But no one’s waking him up.

Until someone does, with an aggressive but tentative shake on his shoulders, he’s thrust back into the land of the living. A land he supposes he’s the only one able to navigate in the rapidly shrinking Parker clan. He blinks the tiredness from out of his bloodshot eyes and looks to find himself in a completely empty classroom.

Something flares within him- a warning system unable to work on lack of sleep and lack of food. He’s thirteen years old and he figures he shouldn’t have to worry about dreaming of planning funerals and blood on his hands. He turns quickly to see a man in a suit looking impossibly overdressed for his eighth-grade biology lab. 

Without a thought or a warning, the kid stumbles to his feet in a brash attempt at escaping the unknown figure, because recently the unknown had lead to incredibly bad, bad things.

Like cancer.

“Woah-hey… buddy.” Peter notices that the guy is wearing sunglasses inside, like a total douchebag. He also notices that the guy probably couldn’t hurt a fly- he was a bit on the doughier side, and his eyes were half-lidded at the moment, meaning he was a step outside of tired. Almost how the eighth-grader himself was feeling. “Peter Parker, right?” 

This guy was not equipped to deal with anyone under the age of thirty-five, and Peter himself did not even meet half that limit. The brunette looked up at the man (because at his height everyone towered over him) with something between fear and confusion, but nodded half-heartedly all the same.

“Alright, well uh. My boss, he wanted to meet… goddammit, I knew I couldn’t do this, Tony.” The man groans out in a sharp cry of annoyance, which is followed by a snark-filled snicker, which is then in turn followed by the appearance of none other than Peter’s all-time childhood hero…

“Oh, Mr. Parker.” None other than Tony freaking Stark walks in and it takes everything within the teenager not to melt into a puddle around his second-hand converse because holy shit this is everything he’d ever dreamed about. He feels his eyes widening to the size of the moon as he places his palms on the lab table in front of him as if to ground him.

“Uhhh. What… What are you doing here? Hey, I’m-I’m-I’m Peter.” Peter stumbles over each and every word in that sentence quite brilliantly, a word that would best describe the man’s one thousand-watt smile. The two men exchange a look that he’s sure he’d be unable to decipher even given the current situation. Adults were still something of a mystery to the young man, as most of the ones he was close to didn’t stick for very long. 

“Tony.” The genius replies and Peter can sense a hint of some sort of sarcasm or something in his tone, but he’s unable to quite place it. He’s never been this awestruck in his life. And Tony is starting to feel the nerves work in because this kid has eyes bigger than he’s ever seen and they are at full effect.

There’s something incredibly unnerving about Peter’s childhood hero being in his middle school biology lab- he must still be dreaming. “What are? What are you-What are you- what are you doing here?” The teen bursts out, still unable to spit out a single word or a coherent sentence, a speech habit he had been trying so hard to kick. In an attempt to regain control of himself, he clamps his jaw shut, looking at his hero with a mix of trepidation and utter awe. He takes a breath as quietly as he can and opens his mouth, his hands trembling ceaselessly.

“It’s about time we met.” The philanthropist marches a few steps closer to the shaking boy, a smile lining his mouth, one that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He raises his eyebrows and when he moves, the student notices a small smattering of teachers and guidance councilors have camped out in the now open doorway behind the man, his principal leading the way. ”You’ve been getting my emails, right?” Mr. Stark continues on, shooting the boy an expression that encourages him to play along, an understanding expression that both the child and Stark himself are a bit surprised to find.

“Oh uh… yeah, yeah. Regarding the…” Peter panics as he makes his way out from behind the desk, moving to meet his hero halfway. He has no idea what to say, he’s never been particularly good at lying in any sense of the word.

“You didn’t tell me about the grant, Peter!” A guidance counselor he recognizes from his welcome to Midtown Middle. This earns a smattering of agreements from everyone else in the hallway. The brunette’s gaze jumps from between the gathering of professionals to the genius in front of him.

“About the grant.” Peter jumps to finishing his last thought, talking more to himself than the giant in the room, and he watches Mr. Stark shake away a smile.

“The September Foundation.” The billionaire supplies.

“R-right,” Peter mutters, his nerves beginning to kick back in now knowing he has an audience to perform for, and an audience of teachers who are half-pitying and half-angry with him recently. He breathes out softly and Mr. Stark nods at him with a wink, the lightheartedness of the gesture still unable to reach his eyes.

“Yeah. Remember when you applied?” The mechanic shoves his hands into his pockets and begins to pace back and forth a bit, maintaining eye contact with the kid the entire time. He nods to the boy, who nods back.

“Yeah.” He responds dumbly, shrugging when the older man rolls his eyes at his horrific acting skills.

“I approved.” Mr. Stark smiles widely (the gesture still not reaching his eyes which freaks Peter a bit) and extends his arms out wide. Peter feels his heart begin to race because he was neck-deep in a lie with his hero in front of the practical entire faculty of Midtown Middle. “So now, we’re in business.”

The teen can hear May’s hurt voice in his head right now, knowing this is a conversation he’s going to have with her at some point- because odds are he was about to be in MAJOR trouble. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just one of Flash’s mean-spirited pranks. He tries to shake the image of May, saying something like, “You didn’t tell me anything. What’s up with that? You’re keeping secrets from me?” With hurt drawn in a map across her face, because she knows he’s keeping secrets anyway. They both do.

He shakes imaginary May from his vision and turns to the man positioned in front of him again.

“Why- I just- I just… wh- what did I apply for?” Mr. Stark all but smacks his forehead at the kid, but he plows on. The older man figures he’s freaking the hell out of the kid right now anyway, plus he’d always had a penchant for putting on a show in front of a live audience.

“That’s what I’m here to hash out.” He answers simply, still owning the room with every calculated, designer shoe step he takes. Peter gulps.

“Okay. Hash-hash out, okay.” Peter says mostly to himself, licking his lips and rubbing his hands across his jeans, trying to wipe the pooling sweat away. God, he hasn’t felt this hot since the summer the A.C. in the apartment had kicked it. Peter smiles fondly at the memory, remembering how he and May had donned their bathing suits and put on every fan in the house- Peter had even gone out of his way to scrounge up the parts to make a few fans of his own while he tried to fix the unit. They had lounged around, dripping sweat and downing lemonades like no one’s business, playing fake beach games the whole while.

He smiles along with the memory before he’s jolted back to reality, remembering the May situation and their soon-to-be officially broke future. His head jerks up as he meets the inventor’s eyes. “Let me just stop you there.” He blurts out without thinking, knowing this next sentence is already asking for too much. He cringes internally.

“Yeah?” The genius looks actually quizzical at this, noting Peter’s fast burst of confidence out of nowhere. The room hangs in silence for a minute as the eighth-grader has an internal battle with himself- he and May had never asked for help, and May would be completely horrified to know that he had, but at the same time, he was thirteen and certainly in desperate need of help.

“Is this grant…” He trails off, taking a deep breath. “Is it like… got money involved or whatever? No?” The teenager’s voice is barely above a whisper as he runs his hands through his sweaty curls, drumming a forgotten beat on the table beneath him. Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow in his direction, already trying to unravel the tightly wound child.

“Yeah.” He replies with a nod, feeling a bit uneasy as he gazes upon the seemingly harmless boy. He was Tony Stark; money followed him in droves wherever he decided to go.

“Yeah.” Peter echoes breathlessly, staring down at his feet as everything begins to hit him at once. He hears the mutters and mumbles of his teachers from what feels like a million miles away as he imagines the prospect of money- the prospect of getting May somewhere better, somewhere where she comes out alive.

“It’s pretty well-funded.” The mechanic plows on, still looking cautiously at the boy, who looks as if he’s passing through every stage of grief in a matter of seconds. There’s a pregnant pause before the kid’s head shoots up- acceptance in his eyes as he matches the older man’s gaze.

“Wow.” He breathes out, and everyone surrounding him can practically see his brain racing as his lips move nearly microscopically- he’s doing calculations in his head, it seems.

“Look who you’re talking to.” Tony Stark again spreads his arms out wide, a large white-toothed grin decorating his face. Peter senses something within the man though, something he’s not quite saying. “Well, speaking of hashing it out- let’s get to it. Happy.” The billionaire barks and the man in the suit clears the crowd of staff and faculty. Mr. Stark begins to exit the biology classroom, before looking behind him, seeing the kid still standing, a far-off look in his eyes. “You coming, kid?” His voice has an uncharacteristic soft twinge to it but is still overpowered by acting and unease.

And without a second thought, Peter falls into line behind the man, unknowing what the future will hold, but hoping it ends with him and his aunt, on the couch in his apartment, re-watching Star Wars, healthy and smiling with a bit of cash to spare.

“So, you’re Mr. Stark.” The boy comments observantly as he’s lead through the hallways of his very own school, ignoring the faculty following a few feet back. “That’s pretty cool.” He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, a nervous habit (although he supposes most of his habits are nervous what with the anxiety) and nods a few times in the man’s direction. The elder of the two looks over his shoulder at the boy, examining him and his semi-slumped posture. He turns back to face forward, adjusting his sunglasses.

“And you’ve got great manners, but yeah, you got that right, kid,” He starts. “So, about getting out of here… schools always give me the creeps… you know, with all the expectations and societal pressures and whatnot…” Peter blinks up at him a few times and then nods with a semi-understanding grin, and Tony has to hide a grin of his own- the kid’s smile is absolutely infectious.

“I know a good sandwich place.”

*** 

Being around Tony Stark, Peter quickly realizes, is nothing short of exhausting. Once the genius shows the boy out to his sleek black vehicle, where they both climb into the backseat because there is a chauffeur (“Head of security, now Tony, something you keep seeming to forget”), Peter is overcome with nerves. He’s never been this close to 1. A superhero 2. A billionaire and 3. His own personal hero in his life and it was showing because no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t stop talking.

“Woah, kid. Take a breath around the sandwich, would you?” The mechanic’s face is a mixture of horror and actual genuine humor as he watches the boy all but inhale his flattened sandwich, somehow managing to talk about the wonders of nanotechnology (a subject he had taken to researching recently, thanks to a certain someone).

“Sorry, sorry. When I get nervous I forget to breathe but never forget to talk.” The younger chokes out, avoiding eye contact with the other man at all costs. After stopping at Delmar’s Deli (which proudly boasts the best sandwiches in Queens, a sentiment Peter and his Aunt had always greatly agreed with), Mr. Stark had insisted on taking the kid home, but what Peter didn’t realize was that meant all the way home.

This is why Peter Parker, at that very moment, was shakily unlocking the door to his guaranteed-empty apartment, with the most famous man in the entire world breathing down his neck.

“It’s alright. I actually find it nice to talk to someone kind of, well, almost at my level with the nanotech. It’s refreshing.” The billionaire remarks with a bit of surprise, because somehow this pre-pubescent teen was smarter than half the people he employed. Stark lets the smile fade from his face and turn to a serious expression, but Peter is so hooked on that compliment he had been given. I mean… on the same level as Tony Stark. He could die now and be satisfied. “However, I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that this isn’t the sole reason as to why I’ve sought you out.” The man fiddles with his jacket, his fingers finding a home hammering away at what Peter is sure is the infamous arc reactor.

“Well, I assume you don’t go around surprising random super fans very often. Somebody told me you’re a busy man.” Peter smirks cheekily, throwing his backpack onto the ground and slipping out of his shoes, but feels his heart pounding in his chest, because what exactly could the man want from him. On another note, what was it that Peter even had to offer? He was stretched extremely thin at the moment.

“You’re a super fan? I’m touched. I’ll make sure Happy sends you the official Iron Man fan club package!” The billionaire jokes as Peter pads his way into his room. Tony follows, and he’s not entirely sure why, but suddenly the two are facing off in the teenager’s room. Peter’s face has gone sheet white by this point, and Tony feels just about the same on the inside, but he ignores his feelings and peers around the room.

“Oh, what do we have here?” The superhero gestures towards a shrine of dirty tech sitting haphazardly on the desk in the small boy’s small room. “Retro tech, huh? Thrift store? Salvation army?” Tony had never been particularly good at small talk, and he was pretty sure that this was the exact reason why. He watched as the boy folded his arms over his chest, squirming uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze.

“Uh… the garbage, actually.” Peter answers self-consciously because Tony Stark could buy all of New York City and still be a billionaire, and he couldn’t even afford an outdated DVD player.

“You’re a dumpster diver.” The billionaire muses and Peter cringes, still notably uncomfortable. He hated lying, and still felt like this was some kind of set up, or so he assured himself as he felt around with the web-shooters he had attached securely under his hoodie while in Delmar’s. 

“Yeah, I was.” Peter’s voice comes out more hostile than he means and he winces. “Anyways, look, uh-“ The boy sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead as if he has a migraine, which he figures he soon will. “I, uh- I definitely didn’t apply for your grant.” He finally gets out; the only truth he figures has been shared between the two this whole afternoon. Tony feels the unease within himself start to make a beeline for his chest, so he dissolves into classic Stark snark.

“Oh, me first.”

“Okay…” Peter breathes out nervously, still playing with the web-shooters attached to his wrists.

Tony takes a few steps forward, which Peter mirrors with a few steps back. The former then pulls out a Stark device and it bursts to life in a holographic explosion. He touches the non-existent screen a few times and Peter can see he’s on YouTube, and not only is he on YouTube, but he has a video of a certain web-slinger pulled up. The video plays and all the moisture from the middle schooler’s mouth evaporates, leaving him halfway to panic town.

“Quick question of the rhetorical variety; that’s you, right?” And Peter can feel his entire life crumbling to pieces before his own two eyes.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Germany, things surrounding the Avengers begin to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So sorry for being MIA for so long! More notes at the bottom! Enjoy!!!!

It’s past 3 AM when Peter literally crawls into the desolate emptiness of his apartment window. He can barely stand up, thanks to yet another eventful evening. Despite the circumstances, he’s positive he still won’t be able to find sleep- it escapes him each and every night. The boy slides out of his brand spanking’ new spider suit with the press of a button upon his chest. Normally he’d take now to marvel at the Stark tech that he proudly sports- but this week has beaten any sense of elation out of him.

Peter doesn’t even bother putting on clothes as he lumbers into the kitchen, opening what he knows is bound to be an empty fridge. He hadn’t had the time or the means to run to a grocery store- he was 13 years old for Christ's sake, he couldn’t even legally get a job.

All of their money was being siphoned by the hospital that May was forced to spend the remainder of her seemingly dwindling days- with no viable source of income there was no money left over for menial things like food or new backpacks. The boy frowned deeply after losing himself within the absolutely empty refrigerator- he slams the door shut and the aggressive gesture sends his whole body vibrating in rage.

He decides to grab a glass of water- because anything must be better than nothing at all- and shuffles back into his room with his prize. He tries to let the impossibility of the last few weeks sink in as he cracks a window and settles into the relative comforts of his top bunk.

Germany had been the first time Peter had left the country. And it truly hadn’t felt much different from the United States. He went, he fought, he came back. Just like home. Germany had been…. Insanely cool, in all honesty. Sure, he had fought a few Avengers and sort of had his ass handed to him, but it was cool to see them all, in person. To be one of them.

The brunet was still relatively in the dark about what the whole thing had been about. He had gone, they had battled, and now everyone was back upstate at the compound. Everyone. Even the guys he had just fought against. They were all together, upstate. Peter had tried to get in contact with Mr. Stark and Happy a few times but was pretty much ignored. So, he let that adventure sit in the past, he tried to pretend the lack of communication didn’t disappoint him, as adults regularly did, and he threw himself back into the life of Peter Parker.

Peter chugs the glass of water and grimaces when he finds his stomach protesting the drink, rioting for the solid food and nutrients his body so desperately needs. Although everything was beginning to turn up just peachy commercially, physically, and emotionally life was taking its toll on the pre-teen. Peter was bone-tired.

His metabolism demanded he consume about two times as much as the normal growing young boy, which is, notoriously, an insurmountable portion of food. He was getting about a third of what a normal kid should. He was also missing sleep, because his days were split evenly between school, Spider-Man, and supporting his aunt.

He shakes his head and goes for another glass of water, his feet slapping against the hardwood. He washes the glass with shaking hands and returns it to the cabinet. If anyone were to step foot into the small apartment, they’d never suspect that an eighth-grade boy was the sole occupant. Peter tried to keep it clean, so if- when he mentally corrects himself- May comes home, she won’t be able to joke at the expense of his unseemly cleaning habits.

Besides, the Parker boy barely spends enough time in the place to warrant any mess. There were only ghosts there, and bugs crawling into his brain.

A shiver runs up the boy’s spine as he shuffles back into his bedroom, shutting the door and double-checking the lock. He understands that nothing could happen to him- he was a regular superhero at this point, but it helped him retain a semblance of normalcy. Pretending that May and Ben were just working late hours as opposed to no longer residing with him.

He pulls open his backpack, a bit stunned to see that in a moment of wakeful clarity he had somehow completed all of his assignments. Instead, he pulls out one of his notebooks and slides it open to a new page. He lets the paper crinkle across his fingers before smoothing a piece down mid-way through. This particular edition in the Peter Parker Patented Notebook series was dedicated to late-night moments. Most of which had to do with his supposed “Stark Internship.”

Peter tries to put his mind at ease as he sketches up newer, sleeker versions of his tried-and-true clunky web-shooters. His fingers somehow keeping up with the racket in his mind enough to get some semi-decent doodles onto the paper. He begins to let himself walk down the dangerous path of what his future could look like.

He imagines May, walking through the door. Months of pain and suffering erased as her hair hangs in loose waves around her face, which is filled with smile lines and tanned from days spent in the sun. There is no sign of illness or hospital stays, no memories of IV-drips and feeding-tubes. Her arms are wide and Peter is falling into them, being held softly in strong, fleshy arms.

She smells like strawberries and covers his face in lipstick kisses. He lets her.

He cries. He sketches. He reminisces. He repeats. The sun rises in yawning stretches of golden-yellow, the city shakes itself out of its drowsy haze and bursts back to life without a moment’s notice. Peter catches a glimpse of himself in the bedroom window, and the reflection is one he can no longer recognize.

“Peter. Peter.” Ned swats the book out of the spindly boy’s hand and doesn’t even feign apology when Peter shoots him a side-eye. “So uh, you feeling up to coming over tonight? My mom is cooking dinner and oh man you know she’s going to make that thing we like, the one with-“ Ned rambles on and Peter’s tired face corkscrews itself into a semi-grin. Ned kept everything afloat, oftentimes.

“I probably can’t make dinner, but maybe after.” The brunet comments, leafing through his physics book to find the homework assignment the two were meant to be working on in the quiet confines of the library. Ned’s face twists up a bit into a frown, his mouth already opening, but Peter presses on. “I’ve got the Stark Internship late tonight. Mr. Stark and I are working on-“

“How can you say that sentence so casually?” Ned gawks at his best friend, their past conversation nothing more than a distant memory. “Your boss is Tony freaking Stark. Dude, you’re the luckiest eighth-grader on the entire planet.” While Peter can’t quite agree with the sentiment, he listens intently as Ned goes on and on about how cool the younger’s after-school gig is.

The hero agrees, of course, forgetting the bags under his eyes, the rumble of his stomach, and the deep ache within his bones for a moment. He forgets hospital rooms and stab wounds and instead focuses on the good, the light. May had always preached positivity and sunshine, so he tried to keep that ideology going regardless of their current circumstances.

“God, do you think you’ll get to meet the Avengers?” Ned gasps prepared to launch into another breathless speech.

“I think right now I’d be lucky to meet another scientist in the lab,” Peter responds, shoving memories of Germany out of his mind, of falling airplane tunnels and shattering glass, and then the bell rings. Peter is stuffing everything into his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder before Ned can even click his pen shut.

Ned, like everyone else in Peter’s life, is still in the dark regarding the whole superhero thing. Mr. Stark had whisked Peter away to Germany for a weekend and no one had even batted an eye, Peter was back in school on Monday as if nothing had happened. The ache in his bones told a different story, the thrill that came with the rush of memories, of quips shared between Avengers. As everything came crashing down.

Mr. Stark was different ever since his return. He had practically everyone at S.I. working with the media, claiming the event was a training exercise, thanking the owner of the abandoned airport hangar for his discretion, and shooting off no comment answers left and right. Everyone was at the compound upstate, hiding away from Thaddeus Ross under Tony’s begrudging protection.

Something had happened in Germany when Peter had left. Something had changed in the way Mr. Stark spoke, carefully, his eyes continually flitting from side to side, looking over his shoulder as if it was his job. Peter knows that the mechanic had brought everyone back home, even the Winter Soldier, Peter saw the practically shredded Iron-Man suit, he heard Mr. Stark’s voice on the phone. The hushed whispers.

“So, do you think Spider-Man is like…. An Avenger now?” Ned pulls Peter back to the present, away from airport hangars and warring families. 

“No.” He responds shortly, cringing immediately at his tone. Ned doesn’t seem to notice though, as he begins diving back into whatever reasons he had for believing Spider-Man was a secret Avenger this time, or maybe even one of the Avengers going undercover. The buzzing of Peter’s phone interrupts them both, and the brunet fishes it out of his pocket but doesn’t answer quickly enough.

“TONY STARK IS CALLING Y-” Ned is screaming at the top of his lungs as Peter answers the phone. He gives the other boy a half-hearted shove and a blush rises to his cheeks.

“Are you at a meeting for my fan club?” Mr. Stark’s voice is clear in Peter’s hear, and the boy can practically envision the smirk decorating the elder’s face. Peter waves goodbye to Ned and disappears, blushing profusely as he begins his journey towards the hospital. He was excited to see May today, she’d been doing ever so slightly better these past few weeks, and Peter was clinging on to the warm burst of hope blooming in his chest.

“Uh… no sir. Sorry, sir.” Peter stutters out, mentally palming his forehead for just how stupid he sounds. 

“First off, I think you should come down here and teach a class on manners, because your inability to talk like a normal person could rub off on everyone else, and then there’d be quiet, again.” Mr. Stark responds, and Peter stays quiet, dodging his way through traffic and waiting for whatever is to come next. The billionaire sighs deeply, before continuing. “Happy’s gotta be lying. Alright, underoos, here’s the deal. I’m moving upstate. I thought I could try my hand at farming, maybe go on a hike or something,” He trails off for a moment, muttering something under his breath. “But, uh, listen. I think it could be maybe, beneficial for us all if you, uh, spent some time. At the compound. With me.”

Peter stops mid-sidewalk, trying to grasp at what the older man was saying. There are a few moments of silence, of bated breath and confusion on both ends. 

The truth is, the rest of the team were starting to get on Tony’s last nerves. All of them complaining about how they had to stay “locked up” in the acres-wide compound while Spider-Man got to swing around freely. That and Pepper had been kind of all over him about “getting to know the kid more” because “using him as a pawn” in his “whiny little girl fight” was apparently, incredibly uncool.

Tony somewhat agreed. There was something gnawing at his chest about that tiny little kid, barely bar-mitzvah aged, fighting against “Earth’s Mightiest Heroes” that did give him some mild anxiety. Regardless, the kid was fucking brilliant anyways, and Tony figured having some help up at the labs besides Bruce could be helpful.

Well, technically Pepper figured. Also, technically Pepper had threatened to call CPS on the avenger for child endangerment if he didn’t start “taking this whole mentoring thing more seriously.” So, with the fear of God (and Pepper Potts) firmly imbued in him, Tony decided totally of his own volition, it was time to call in the little spiderling. And to make him fit for the future of whatever all of this was.

“Are you talking to me?” Peter finally spits out, getting shoved a bit by people bustling past him. Tony scoffs a bit, unsure of how to answer.

“Uh, yeah… kid. I’ve decided to give this whole…. Mentorship thing a try.” The older man adds hesitantly, suddenly heavily regretting this whole thing. Starting with showing up at a certain middle school. 

“So…. I’ll…. Be a real intern?” 

“Well…. Yeah. My personal intern.” Tony is taken aback a bit at the excitement trickling its way into the kid's voice. Noting the tiny hint of dread that seems to be present as well. The mechanic was beginning to regret this phone call a bit, simply because he didn’t know how to talk to kids. How the hell was he supposed to get used to one flitting around his personal labs all the time?

“Ned’s gonna flip.” Peter’s voice squeaks as the reality of it all sets in. As his wildest dreams begin to come true. His smile is absolutely infectious as he continues his stroll to the hospital, picking up the pace if only to immediately spill everything about this conversation to May. Peter shoulders his backpack, imagining a brand new life as Tony Stark’s personal assistant. Flash would have to back off now, right?

“So… is that a yes?”

“Ohmygod Mr. Stark I’m so sorry uh, sir! I’m…. just…. Wow! This is just…. The coolest thing to ever happen. Like you have to understand. This is like….. This is just….. Wow!” Peter speaks all in one rush of air, and Tony feels something eerily similar to a smile begin to crack his lips. He inhales sharply and clears his throat, moving from the lab table he’s been situated at to a quieter part of the lab as Bruce enters.

“Alright, alright,” He chides.

“But wait-” Peter’s voice cuts in again, much surer of itself this time. “You won’t… tell anyone about…. You know.”

“Not yet, kiddo. But… you know. They’re the Avengers….” Tony trails off, not wanting to say much else with other ears in the room. He sees Bruce shoot him a look and then nod towards him, meaning that the billionaire was needed elsewhere at the moment. “Alright well. Sounds good. I’ll have Happy pick you up from school on Friday and then you’ll help me out this weekend. Pleasure doing business and all that.”

And the phone call ends.

Peter doesn’t even have a chance to tell the billionaire that school’s out for the summer as of tomorrow. That his finals have come and gone without much fanfare, that he’s passed with flying colors yet again. That the next time he enters a school, it’ll be a freaking high school. That he’s growing up faster than he knows how to handle, and no one seems to be noticing. 

Peter picks up the pace, plastering a smile on his face as he practically skips towards the hospital.

And for once, he enters a hospital, and there’s no bad news.

***

Peter has been waiting in the school entryway for about an hour when a sleek black car rolls up. He shoots up, expectantly as the window rolls down. A hand reaches out, beckoning him forwards, and he sprints down, clutching onto the passenger side door handle only to discover it’s locked.

For a second, he’s mortified. Had he been so presumptuous to just assume that the first nice car that came rolling up was for him? Was this just some random person, who was now terrified he was trying to rob them? Was he making a total and utter fool of himself?

“Back seat.” A gruff voice barks out at him, and his heartbeat steadies a bit. He leans down and sees Happy’s frowning face glaring back at him, unwavering. Peter detaches himself and slides into the back seat, carefully putting his backpack on the seat beside him before doing his buckle.

“So, Mr. Hogan-”

“No talking, got a migraine the size of Manhattan right now,” The bodyguard grumbles back, and Peter does something he always had a hard time with. He shuts his mouth. He figures the drive wouldn’t be too long, a few hours perhaps, so he pulls out his backpack and shuffles through it in search of his homework, and as Queens flashes by him, he gets to work.

The compound remains foreboding as always. With yawning glass structures and miles of nothing surrounding, the tech is cutting edge, mostly the first of its kind, untested and more than likely highly combustible. Peter shoves his things haphazardly back into his bag, midway through an assignment to press himself against the tinted glass and get a more intimate look at the sprawling structure in front of him.

“Hey! Hey! Quit fogging up my glass!” Happy grumbles, fumbling to open the back window. Peter sticks half of his body out immediately, sucking in the warm summer air and grinning happily. He looks at the fields, the trees, the flowers, and he thinks of May. Of how she loves fresh air and wide, open nature. Of how she always joked about retiring somewhere warm, on a farm she thinks, with ducklings and piglets and horses.

Peter doesn’t have much more time to marvel, as Happy pulls the vehicle into a concrete garage. Peter collects his things and jumps from the car, his long legs enjoying the escape from captivity. For as short as Peter was, he sure seemed pretty gangly.

Happy locks the car and begins walking away. He doesn’t say anything to the boy, but Peter knows to follow him. He’s picked up on social cues from distant adults, from nurses and doctors and neighbors and the like. Peter follows the leader, locking any tragic associations with the topic, and embarks on this new quest.

Happy quietly leads him through hallways of glass, past countless closed doors, and buzzing machines. Past endless mysteries and countless possibilities.

He stops in front of a closed door. He raps on it a few short times before trying the inevitably locked door. “He always does this.” The older man grunts in faux anguish, giving the kid an uneasy once over. “Hey! Hey, Boss….. Kid’s here.” He shouts through the door, although it seems he understands that the notion is absolutely futile. He scrubs a hand over his face and mutters something else indecipherable. He looks above, and Peter thinks he’s being awfully dramatic to need to pray in this mundane of a moment.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, can you tell Tony that the kid’s here.” He calls out suddenly. “And tell him next time, to hire a babysitter.” He adds, and Peter’s face flushes at that.

“I will notify him now.” Peter nearly jumps out of his skin, at least getting a few feet off the ground at the unexpected response. He looks around frantically for the source of the noise, and he thinks he sees a small grin cross the head bodyguard’s face.

The unassuming door bursts open, and standing there with a sizzling air about him, is none other than Tony Stark. He’s got a soldering mask propped upon his forehead, and his hands covered in thick gloves. There’s a smirk painted across his face, and his chest is pumping double time.

“I heard you have a delivery for me.” He says, grinning widely at the ex-boxer, who rolls his eyes rather aggressively. “Hey, I don’t pay you the big bucks to not babysit. What would you call everything you’ve done for me all the years?” He adds as Happy turns on his heels, not even bothering to chirp out a witty response. That leaves just Peter and the hero standing in the otherwise empty hallway, surrounded by golden rays of sunshine and quaint farmland.

“For the record, Mr. Stark, I don’t really need a babysitter.” Peter mentally palms his forehead and begins chanting harsh critiques at himself as he looks over at the genius. His heart is in his throat and beating so loudly it’s begun to impede on his typical super-hearing capabilities. He feels as though he’s seconds from passing out when a short burst of laughter erupts from the older man.

“Yeah, figures.” He responds, and the air clears momentarily. The tense discomfort between them dissipating, the fear they harbor for one another shifting to the back of their respective brains. Tony looks the boy over, all long legs and doe eyes, a lopsided smile crossing his boyish face, and the only thing that crosses his mind is “Don’t fuck this up.”

“Anyways, I didn’t hire you to stand in my hallways and piss off my head bodyguard,” The mechanic slips back into his aloof tone, sliding the mask back over his face. “We’ve got much work to do.” And he disappears back into the lab, the door beginning to swing shut behind him. Peter takes the mental- and physical- leap forward, slipping through the closing door and entering Tony Stark’s personal labs.

He stands in the doorway as it crashes closed, and stares on in awe. The tech in there is second to none, it’s so expensive and new, that Peter thought he would never see it in his life. The boy glances around at the sprawling lab around him, at all of the toys his hands are itching to test out. He imagines days spent here, tinkering and inventing, whipping up new web-shooters and suit features with relative ease.

“Oh yeah, welcome and all that. Lab rules are pretty standard. No uh, you know. No eating any chemicals or playing with any gamma rays. We’ve had our fair share of lab accidents so, you know, don’t become another statistic and all that,” The billionaire fumbles. Typically, he can talk the pants off of anyone. Of any politician or celebrity or military leader or terrorist, but now, staring into this little kid’s impressionable young face, he stumbles.

Peter nods, the grin on his face widening as he floats forward, unfazed by the older man’s clear spark of nerves.

“Anyways, I figured we could work on your suit for the day. I can show you, you know, the proverbial ropes and whatnot. And you, in turn, can give me some insider info on those freaky-deeky powers of yours.” Tony soldiers on, setting down whatever he had been working on and taking off his protective gear. The boy shuffles towards him more, still taking in everything around them. “It’s taken most of my will power and sanity to keep Bruce off my back.” He adds in a mumble, and Peter’s head immediately shoots up at the mention of the scientist's name.

“Listen, I stay true to my word, kid. Secret identity stays a secret and all that.” He adds, the boy’s eyes boring holes into his very soul. “I’ll keep ‘em at bay as long as I can, but they’re fairly perceptive people. Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and all that.”

“Yeah, yeah… all that.” Peter’s gaze is somewhere else, and Tony doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t understand teens, nevermind superpowered ones. “Right well, uh, I really do appreciate that. Mr. Stark, sir.” Peter is practically shaking with nerves, his whole body a ball of untapped energy. He stands next to his hero and begins sifting through his backpack, pulling out the million-dollar suit crushed within.

Tony takes the suit, lays it out in front of them, and stares.

Peter stares too.

“Let’s get to work then.” And the two do just that. It takes a while to warm up to one another, but eventually, they do. Perhaps it's due to the fact that both have trouble staying quiet for any measurable amount of time. But slowly, Peter seems to coax Tony out of the shell the older man didn't know he inhabited. Tony oddly felt at ease around the boy, in the same way, he felt comfortable around his closest companions. There was something infectious about the kid, the lopsided smile or constant fountain of knowledge perhaps, or maybe the secrets buried deep in the kid's subconscious. Peter was an unsolvable equation that Tony had become determined to crack.

“Wait…. So you’re telling me that he ate it all.” Peter dissolves into giggles as he reassembles the mask in front of him.

“I’m telling you, it was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.” Tony grins back, amazed at the relative ease with which conversation flows between the duo. They’d been mindlessly working on Peter’s suit for a few hours, only communicating in the barest of minimum means, when Peter began to get looser, more comfortable. He cracked jokes and lodged complaints and laughed so infectiously that it loosened Tony’s own tightly coiled chest.

“Boss-” Peter jumps again, the mask slapping against the desk with a thud, at the sound of the unattached voice. An A.I. system that inhabited the walls and empty spaces within the compound, named F.R.I.D.A.Y and nicknamed Fri, she could share information regarding practically anything with anyone, a feature Peter had taken advantage of throughout their time together. However, the disembodied voice still spooked the hell out of the brunet. “You’re being requested in the private kitchen. I’m being informed that it’s a Class-D emergency.” Peter’s eyes widen, but Tony just sighs, dropping his tools in front of him. He rubs his hands together and rolls his eyes.

“Alright, tell them Dad’s on the way, Fri.” He shoots back at the A.I. before turning to his young intern, who's a bit taken aback by the casual use of the word 'Dad'. “I guess now is as good a time as ever for a dinner break,” He begins with a taut smile. “You ready to meet the Avengers, oh personal intern of mine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is a bit slow, however, we're just beginning to crack the juicy parts! I'm so excited for what I have in mind regarding Peter and his more formal introduction to the Avengers! Also, a note that I'm not throwing out Civil War entirely, but I need the Avenger's to be friends for the rest of this to work! So, Tony and Steve came to some agreement after warring in Siberia, and now there's a tense living situation!
> 
> Anyways, I have a lot written for this, and much more planned out! I'm going to try to get the next chapter up this week, and after then updates will probably be biweekly (twice a week) or weekly if my job takes me back! Schools out for summer so I'm mostly just focusing on this!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your time! Please comment, leave kudos, and all thatt jazz!!!! Stay safe and warm, sending love!!!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker meets the Earth's Mightiest Heroes, and no one is immune.

“I…… How exactly do you want me to answer that?” Peter spits out as he follows Mr. Stark down snaking, winding hallways. The compound was a structure comprised of an alarming amount of glass, and the stars were out in full force, distracting the young intern every step of the way. “Like, is this a trick… question? Are you just joking with me? Because if so…. Oh boy! You sure got me, Mr. Stark, sir.” Peter trips over himself as the mechanic continues on the sharp path forwards, his pace brisk.

“First off, I’m offended that you think I’m a liar. Seriously kid, you’re stabbing daggers in this old heart of mine. What am I if not a truth-telling saint?” Mr. Stark turns to Peter fast enough to do some heavily sarcastic prayer hands, his eyes searching skywards.The gesture is so overwhelmingly cartoonish that Peter lets out a short fit of giggles, which eases the air some. “Secondly….” He trails off, standing outside of a closed door. Peter can hear sounds swelling from the other side, but those noises are immediately overwhelmed by the incredibly loud beating of Mr. Stark’s heart. 

There’s a moment of quiet between the two. As Tony tries to calm his nerves and as Peter tries to quench his excitement. They stand there, in the fluorescent hallway, surrounded by darkness…. Of sizzling stars above. There’s a moment of understanding passed between the two, although neither seems to realize. An electric current of connection.

Tony pushes open the door.

The room erupts.

“We’re getting takeout,” Tony calls out with a grin, a sentiment that is immediately drowned out by the explosion of noise echoing through the small room, rattling between Peter’s ears. He winces slightly at the assault to his ears, but looks on in awe, as a group of huddled Avengers, primarily dressed in day clothes, argue around a dining room table. It’s so painfully mundane that Peter hardly believes it.

He’s transported back, to moments when both Ben and May were healthy and alive, standing around a dining room tabling and cackling at whatever ungodly concoction May had dreamed up and subsequently (yet unfortunately) brought to life. Of Ben already dialing the phone before May had even pulled their Frankenstein's monster of a failed dinner out of the oven. Of May sighing in exasperation, making a big show of her hands and eye rolls, all whilst smiling gently, barking out an order Ben already had memorized.

It’s a warm memory. He can smell Thai food and hear the rustling of plastic bags and full containers, the grumbles of two people deeply in love.

It’s a kind memory.

“I agree with Stark on this one. I cannot sit idly by and allow you monsters to cook Facebook recipe after Facebook recipe.” Peter blasts back to the present at the sound of a voice that isn’t his or his mentor’s. He looks up just in time to see freaking Hawkeye pointing enthusiastically at Mr. Stark, his grin ear-splitting and his tone startlingly unimpressed.

“Well at least someone here cares about keeping her friend’s healthy. You know, just in case they have to save the world.” Black Widow voices her dissent, her voice icy and soft all at once as she shoots daggers at the archer. He signs something back to her, aggressively, and she scoffs. “Really? Kinder language, tough guy. There are children present.”

“Did someone say language?” The Falcon shoots a knowing glance over to Captain America, who blushes warmly, as a few Avenger's laugh at what must be an inside joke.

“Listen…. It’s getting a bit late for us to cook anyways. I agree with Tony, let’s order out.” His voice is naturally commanding, and the room quiets slightly, which Peter mentally notes as incredibly cool. Grumbles of all sorts follow the proclamation, but no one seems to care enough to cause another outburst. 

“Great. Fri, order us something good. Whatever you got, I’m not causing another argument.” Tony claps his hands together, rubbing them swiftly and leveling a quick wink at the young man beside him. He begins walking forwards, towards the couch in the living room (which, Peter notes, is larger probably, than his entire apartment back in Queens). Peter follows, keeping his dialogue running internally (which is a challenge for the typically filter-less child), quelling all of the excitement he possibly can and not trying to, as May often kindly calls it “nerd out”. His hands shake at his sides, his lips are dry…. This is the coolest thing to possibly ever happen in the history of the universe and he was supposed to just act normal. 

Peter feels eyes on him, he hears the shuffling of hands and assumes there’s some signing occurring behind him. He hears bated breaths and feels set after set of super-powered eyes trying to peel back layers of his skin and siphon hordes of information out of his brain. In all of his excitement at the prospect of meeting Earth's Mightiest Heroes, he hadn't even a moment to contemplate how they would react to his presence, a stranger in their most vulnerable state.

“I heard they’ve got an 80s movie marathon running this weekend on NBC or something. I hope we can catch Back to School,” Mr. Stark seems to be speaking to himself, but Peter knows he’s just doing it for the intern’s sake. Peter shakes himself from his stupor and nods appreciatively, sitting a few feet away from Tony on the couch, not close enough to be awkward but also not quite far enough away to be uncomfortable either.

“I really like Weird Science. Ian was like… my mortal enemy when I was a kid.” Peter chirps back, trying to call back the comfortable atmosphere the two had garnered in the lab all afternoon, and Tony shoots him a look in response, turning on the television and drowning out any sounds of discomfort. The duo eases back into conversation about iconic 80s movies and beloved versus hated characters. Peter’s only really seen the more popular ones, and Tony finds himself particularly appalled at the notion.

Time passes as such for a while, it feels as though it’s just the two of them. Peter begins to forget the wandering eyes, the quick hand movements, as he becomes enraptured in conversation with the mechanic yet again. Peter could listen to him talk endlessly, still unashamed at his total starstruck-ness.

“Alright, I can’t be the only one who’s thinking this,” It’s Sam Wilson’s voice that pulls the both of them back to reality. Tony turns to eye the pilot with one eyebrow raised and a smirk just below the skin. “Stark….. Is this your kid?” Wilson sounds incredulous, albeit a bit impressed, as the words find their way into the open air. No one voices any other opinion, and Peter and Tony both turn to meet a teams-worth of pairs of eyes staring back, expectantly, awaiting an answer.

“How could I have possibly hidden a kid all these years? I couldn’t even hide my own identity.” Tony shoots back haughtily, and Peter basks in the compliment of being called Tony Stark's kid.

“He’s got a good point.” Colonel Rhodes adds, breaking from the group and smiling brightly at Peter. The brunet returns the gesture, waving childishly in addition. “Tones can’t hide shit.” He adds with a toothy grin, exchanging a look with the man now planted firmly on Peter’s side. Tony claps a hand on the boy’s shoulder as if to agree with Colonel Rhodes’ statement. Peter embraces the warm touch, does all he can to not lean into it.

There’s a moment of discomfort in the room. There’s a tension that’s been built over years of friendship splintered in a moment of indecision. Peter can hear elevated heart rates, shuffling stances, and under-the-breath grumbles radiating from about the room. He watches observantly as eyes shift, conversations had without a word being uttered, he basks in the unsettling quiet, it’s a place he feels most secure.

“I’m Peter,” A wave of confidence bursts through the young vigilante, and he flashes his most charming smile. “I’m an intern here. I go to Midtown Tech, and Mr. Stark is doing an internship program there.” The rehearsed lie flows out of Peter’s mouth with practiced ease thanks to a lifetime of lying to strangers. “I’m the guy who gets the coffees.” He adds with a soft nervous chuckle, hoping it comes across as endearing and not slightly off-putting. 

At that moment, Peter feels indescribably small. Like ant staring up at the boot that's about to crush him small. The pressure of each of the superheroes stares is starting to weigh on him, and the distance he usually stays around adults is not far enough away this time. There's an issue of trust among the group, that much is obvious, and adding a baffling new element so soon to a re-growing organism wasn't doing much good. Peter felt impossibly guilty and overwhelmingly nervous as he tucked himself further into the couch, feeling more and more like the burden he deep down knew he was. 

The pressure of Mr. Stark's hand on his shoulder is the only reason the couch doesn't consume the vigilante whole. The whole world seems to come to a stop as the team quietly psychoanalyze one another. Looking for a hidden meaning behind the entire intern endeavor. Peter forces himself to keep breathing, practically having to push and pull his chest with his hands as the air grows thicker.

“Can’t be room for much interning. I’ve seen the amount of caffeine that man consumes, and I can definitely confirm it’s not FDA-approved.” Clint breaks the silence with a smirk that travels from one ear to the other. The quip seems to warm up the room immediately, an uneasy trust being bestowed on both the spiderling and his mentor with one simple statement, and Peter releases a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in. 

Tony claps Peter on the shoulder and shoots him what the intern believes is a genuine smile. He winks too, and Peter tries to read deeper into the gesture, tries to crawl into the genius’ mind and make sense of whatever it is that’s going on right now because it cannot possibly be real. He almost wants to pinch himself, because there’s actually no possible way that he is sitting in the Avenger’s compound, digging through a healthy heaping of Thai food, while surrounded by the very heroes who resided there.

The conversation isn’t entirely intellectually stimulating, but again Peter must do all he can not to open his eyes and be in a cozy apartment, surrounded by ghosts. It’s oddly comforting, and that notion strikes a bolt of fear in Peter’s heart. Because everywhere he goes, he's followed by ghosts, and he's not quite ready to collect anymore.

“So, uh, Peter, right?” The conversation has been dull for a few moments, no sound really aside from the scraping of utensils in takeout containers and noises of hungry contentment. His head shoots up from his second helping at the sudden query, and he allows his eyes to flit across the room nervously. Eyes are on him, from all over the room, and he takes a second to collect himself, nodding and pointing to his full mouth, he twists his lips into his signature lopsided smile, shrugging in apology. He sees a few smiles, hears some soft laughter, and swallows. “How’s uh…. School?”

It’s Steve Rogers, Captain America, who has been doing the most to make Peter feel involved. Continually trying to bring him into the teeteringly “mature” topics of conversation the group had been having throughout the night, Captain Rogers clearly understood what it felt like to be the little guy, such was his entire schtick. His smiles were the most genuine and pointed at the boy, and Peter hated to admit that his crystal blue eyes sent a wave of calmness in his direction.

“It’s…. It’s really cool. Um, it actually ended this week but… I’ve started on some of my summer projects. Mr. Stark’s going to help me on my freshman thesis proposal-”

“Wait hold up… did you just say ‘freshman thesis proposal’? Are you serious? Did they get sick of summer reading?” Clint seemingly can’t help himself as he busts into the conversation, mouth agape, and obviously shocked. His eyes are widening by the minute as he realizes that Peter’s dead serious. “Christ, Stark. How old did you say this kid was? You can’t possibly mean freshman in high school.”

Peter grows even redder if that is at all possible. This entire night thus far had been an exploration into how much blood could rush to the boy’s pale cheeks before he simply keeled over. 

His intellect had always been a topic of contention among adults. His IQ was unspeakably high, and he’d been tossed from gifted program to gifted program on full scholarship throughout his life. He was smart enough to skip a few grades if he so pleased, smart enough to get the hell out if he wanted. And yet unwaveringly, he stayed. Because despite it all, Peter Parker always stayed.

“High school, yeah.” Peter’s voice is soft as he nods, his grin bashful. “But uh, it’s a…. Um, it’s a school for…. Smart uh…. I mean intellectually gifted students.” He stutters out afterward and watches the calculating looks on the other Avengers’ faces. He’s being studied, and he knows that he’s used to it, after years and years of being a subject for such. From his brains to his emotions, he was always constantly being studied. So, he pulls on his Peter Parker costume and allows himself to be emotionally poked and prodded.

“‘Intellectually gifted.’” Sam Wilson is scraping the bottom of a container and laughing to himself. “So you go to a school filled with nerdy little genius’? Tiny little kids with brains too big for their heads. That’s terrifying.” He scoops the last of the food out of the container, discarding it haphazardly and reaching for his next one. He swipes a container from in front of Bucky Barnes, who does nothing in response. He’s too busy staring at Peter, which is practically all he’s done since the high schooler walked into the room. Peter, politely he reckons, pretends not to notice.

“Do you have like…. Biology class? Like normal biology? Or is it like… advanced thermochemistric dynamics?” Clint buts in again, seeming genuinely curious about what schooling at Midtown Tech is like. Peter shuffles in halted discomfort but keeps a measured look of ease on his face. Donning yet another emotional mask.

“Our classes are definitely more specialized? Like tailored to specific topics. But uh…. Mr. Barton, I don’t think thermochemistric dynamics is real. We do have like… thermodynamics class and different biology-linked studies. Like BioChem or Organic Chem and stuff.” Peter tries to fight his stutter and somewhat succeeds. He makes eye contact with Clint, who smiles back warmly. “It’s… we’ve got a lot of college-level courses. So, when we do go to college, we’re able to finish undergrad early and start in on graduate-level studies faster. Like Masters, Ph.D.’s, and the like.” Peter adds almost as an afterthought, and there’s a stillness in the air. The sounds of scraping utensils and even breathing.

“Kid’s basically brilliant. Which is why he made it into my rather prestigious internship program. Unlike you idiots.” Mr. Stark cuts in then, grabbing an armful of containers and depositing them into what appears to be a nearby trash chute. “I’m telling you, in a year or so, I’ll be learning more from him than I could ever teach.” Peter can’t tell if that’s a comment meant to effectively cut off the probing, or if it’s an actual admission from the billionaire. He searches Mr. Stark’s face as best as he can but is unable to read him. He hates this new regularity in his life, the inability to read adults. He had spent his entire childhood perfecting that particular skill, a skill that clearly needed much work surrounded by this new group.

“Do you offer classes, Professor Parker?” Wilson chides again, and everyone begins talking over one another. He hears bits and pieces of the scattered conversations, but he does his best to tune out. He takes his moment to sweep away the rest of the garbage, to collect the utensils and wash them, while examining each and every one of the adults' faces. He looks from pair of haunted eyes to pair of haunted eyes. He looks at the different quirks of lips, the shadows of pain and sleep, the well-recorded history of their lives painted across their rather sculpted faces.

He looks for tells in their expressions, for moments of quiet, moments of reflection. He begins to catalog them away in his brain, as though he’s simply adding another series of notes to his ever-expanding notebook of human observation.

He smiles along and laughs when necessary. He interjects occasionally, peppering in small stories about life in Queens (Steve lights up at that, noting that he’s from Brooklyn, and Peter marks it down), about growing up in his cramped apartment (Natasha’s eyes flicker), about always being the smartest one in the room, of its benefits and the often hilarious adventures it leads him on (Dr. Banner and Clint both smile at that, respectively). He asks about each of their lives, about what they do on a daily basis (Sam is most taken aback by this, and smiles widely at the consideration), he asks about what they like and dislike, he treats them like any other room of adults- with ultimate respect, but as though they are human (Something that Bucky Barnes appreciates more than anyone else).

He notes when their smiles become genuine and when their gazes turn soft on him. When the Peter Parker effect kicks in- the moment when they begin to warm up to him. The Peter Parker effect, much unlike the infamous Parker Luck, was a good thing. Coined by May Parker herself, it was the moment when a person fell absolutely in love with Peter, unwittingly as it may be. Once they realized they genuinely cared about the boy. It always worked alarmingly fast, because “you’re the sweetest boy on the planet, Peter. And people want nothing more than to be near your kind heart” May would chirp out.

“Alright. Well, this has been a fun little getting to know you evening. But, I feel as though 1 AM is already a relatively late bedtime for growing boys.” Mr. Stark eventually gets out, pulling Peter from his seat in the living room. A few of the heroes protest and Peter’s heart soars at that, but an unwelcome yawn betrays the vigilante, and his face reddens at the chuckles that follow. “So, say goodnight then, kiddie.”

“Goodnight everyone. Uh, not to be… unprofessional but…. Um… you’re all really….. Um…. this is the uh…. Well,” He yawns, stuttering over word after word. An evening of ease ultimately erased by a stuttered admission of admiration. “What I’m trying to say is, thank you. I… I can’t wait to….. Hang out??? Soon.” He looks at the soft gazes of the group of heroes and knows that even this strike of awkwardness won’t counteract the effect he’s been working all night long.

“Goodnight Parker. Tomorrow, I’ll teach you what being a real Avenger is like. In the gym.” Sam responds first, calling back to when he had teased the intern about needing self-defense lessons when spending time with Mr. Stark. Peter smiled appreciatively, knowing Mr. Stark would truly never let that happen, what with the whole alter-ego situation.

“‘Night dude. Rest up. We got a big day of showing Wilson how wrong he is.” Clint bites back.

“Goodnight Peter, I look forward to working with you tomorrow.” Dr. Banner smiles brightly at the boy, and Peter does everything he can to quell his inner fanboy because he was going to work on biochemistry tomorrow with Dr. Bruce Banner. Practically the coolest thing in the world now added to an incredibly long list of coolest things in the world to Peter.

“Goodnight kid.” Bucky’s voice is gruff as he nods.

“Goodnight Peter. Sweet dreams.” Agent Romanov’s face is filled with a warmth that Peter can’t describe, but one he wishes to fall into nonetheless. She’s oddly maternal for her reputation, but Peter appreciates it regardless, even uncaring at the notion that she knows who he is. Her eyes had searched him restlessly, and he knew she would come to her probably correct conclusion within days.

“Goodnight Queens. We’ll see you soon, buddy.” The nickname Captain Rogers uses catches Peter off guard, but he doesn’t let his facial expression betray him. He smiles back at him warmly and feels Mr. Stark’s grip tighten on his shoulder, clearly noting the use of the nickname as well, considering Peter had raved about it via voicemail to Happy for a while.

“Thank you again. Goodnight.” Mr. Stark rotates his charge and leads him back through winding hallways, a chorus of “goodbyes” follows him as they go. They walk in relative silence as the billionaire walks them into the residential wing of the increasingly large compound. Peter has been trying to memorize routes throughout the building all evening, but it almost seemed as though the place was made to be impossible to navigate. Each hallway was snaking and endless, each room a surprise upon entering.

Peter is about to ask Mr. Stark about the architectural design of the building, and if it had been built as a less sinister maze of confusion when the billionaire stops in front of an unopened door. He types in a code and it swings open, welcoming the two into the largest bedroom Peter had truly ever stepped foot in.

His breath is practically taken by the area. It was at least the size of his living room and kitchen at home, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the calm greenery surrounding them. More greenery than Peter felt he had ever seen in his entire life. There’s a giant bed in the middle of the room, drowning in pillows and blankets. There’s a desk on one side of the room, and a door that seems to be leading into a bathroom on the other side. There’s a nightstand, a bureau, a closet, and blueprints for all sorts of things lining the walls. Star Wars posters and paraphernalia are out in abundance. He feels his eyes water as he looks around, at this room clearly designed entirely for him.

“I had uh, Pepper help me out but, this is for you.” Tony sounds uncharacteristically uncomfortable, still stood in the door frame as Peter ventures his way around. “Anyway, there’s some clothes in there uh, bathroom’s right over there. I bought some…. Shampoo and whatever for you so, no worries. But uh, yeah. My room is down the hall if you need me I guess. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is….. You know.” Peter is nodding absently as he continues his quiet journey about the room, his small fingers brushing against practically every single surface in the room. He’s never been anywhere so… vastly his? He doesn’t know.

Tony studies the boy as he makes his way about the room, trying to ignore the shock of stress working its way through his system. The billionaire had socialized much more tonight with his team than he had in quite some time, and that paired with trying to keep up appearances for a certain sticky child left him positively exhausted. He couldn’t, however, tear his eyes away from the child in question as he practically danced his way across the room, his eyes wide and his fingers ghosting across everything as if to ensure it was real.

Tony has his complaints about life, lord knows he had issues with his father and his father-figure and his…. Well, everyone. But right now, looking at this boy whose eyes are starry with wonder, he feels guilt creeping in. Sure Tony had his own personal and familial issues, and in turn that had hardened him, turned him bitter, but here was Peter, whose own life was exactly the opposite of Tony’s, and who’s lived experiences had made him softer around the edges, sweeter to be around, warmer on the inside.

Tony feels something creeping into his chest and he does all he can to keep a soft sort of smile crossing his face. A smile he wasn’t even aware his features could twist into. He catches himself staring and instead of living in the warm moment for any longer, he clears his throat and disrupts the gentleness. Self-sabotaging of course being his one true profession.

Peter goes bright red when he realizes that he’d gotten lost somewhere in that big brain of his, and he smiles shyly up at Tony. “T-Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. This is… this is just. Wow. I mean…” Peter trails off as he glances around again, his eyes finally settling on the wall of windows that overlook an expanse of greenery and stars Peter didn’t think he’d ever be able to see. His eyes reflect the constellation, and Tony unwittingly makes a mental note of that.

“No problem, underoos,” Tony responds, unable to fight off the hint of softness now lacing his voice. Betrayal. “I’ll leave you to it then, I know teenage boys need their whatever weird alone time.” He watches the boy’s face burst even brighter red, and as the kid opens his mouth, Tony chuckles. “I’m kidding, kid. Get some sleep, we’ve got a long weekend ahead of us.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Stark.” Peter rubs at his eyes and climbs into bed, so Tony shuts the door. He leans against the frame for a moment, unaware of what’s happening, unsure of how this boy he’d known for so little time was somehow worming his way towards the mechanic’s iron-clad heart. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself forwards, making his way towards his own bed, where his own dreams are filled with scenes of found family and young superheroes with stars for eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u sm for ur patience! trying to get better at.... scheduling things so hopefully for real this time, i'll be updating much more frequently.
> 
> also- i made a Tumblr! same account name there as i am on here (friendofafriendofme)! i'm trying to be active on there and am absolutely open to fic requests, comments, encouragements, and friendship! that's my shameless self-promotion, chapter four incoming as soon as I finish agonizing over it!!!!
> 
> as always, kudos, comments, and everything else are encouraged, wanted, and loved! sending sm love everyone's way!!!!! yay!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, you made it! Thanks for taking the time to read this little guy! I hope you liked it! I would love to hear from you- should I continue? Did you enjoy? Comments, Likes, Shares, Kudos, all are greatly appreciated! Have a lovely day(:!!!!


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